


Broken Heaters

by Snowworries



Category: Handsome Devil (2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Gay Character, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-21 14:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16578188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowworries/pseuds/Snowworries
Summary: Five times Conor asked to be held and one time he didn’t have to.(5 Things + 1)





	1. Baby, it's cold outside

Conor had laid awake, silently, since he’d crawled into his bed many hours before, his limbs sore and aching from the brutal training session he’d just survived. Staring up into the darkness, he listened to the sound of Ned’s soft and muffled breathing from under his thick blue duvet, his bottle-red hair peeking out from his covers. It’d taken a while for him to come to the conclusion as to his feelings, he’d basically been in love with Ned since the day he’d watched him stand up in class, muttered song lyrics spilling from his mouth, the memory of the “Berlin Wall” that separated their room still stinging the corners of his eyes. He’d known about this development, however, only really since the day Ned had shown up at the top of the stairs on the little boat that he’d once shared with his alcoholic father.

It had been painfully clear ever since he’d started catching himself longingly gazing over at Ned, whether it was in English class or in the middle of practice, where he’d gotten hit in the head a couple of times because of his affinity for looking out for the flash of red hair against the green of the pitch. He’d often found himself looking at all of Ned: the pale expanse of skin on the back of his neck, the fine pale lashes that fluttered delicately against his freckled cheeks, the way the morning sunlight flickered across his face as his guitar lay against his chest, but most of all the sensation of Ned crushed against his chest in the middle of the field, the roaring of the crowd fading out as the scent of sweat and ‘Ned’ overwhelming his senses, less than an hour after his mind had spun at the sound of “our team” leaving his lips. But now all he wanted was him. All he wanted was Ned.

Sighing loudly, he stood up and tapped cautiously at the radiator, his fingertips jumping back from the frost-covered metal. He swore sharply and jumped back into his bed to escape the cruel coldness of the wooden floorboards underfoot. He stared across the room, only just catching the dark silhouette of Ned’s body.

“Ned. You awake?” Conor waited with bated breath in the dark, his gaze never leaving the ceiling, as he listened nervously for the sound of his roommate’s quiet breathing. With a snort, he heard Ned shuffle over underneath the plush duvet.  
“Yeah,” Conor could see him blinking lazily in the darkness, his mouth lolling open in the (adorable) way it always did when he’d just woken up. “What time is it?”  
“Oh, um,” he clicked his mobile phone on, blinking rapidly into the brightness radiating from his screen, ‘2.30 AM’, he groaned in irritation, “It’s like 2 AM.”  
“Oh.” He paused. Waiting, Conor felt his heart thundering in his chest. “Are you okay?” Ned smacked his lips together, the damp taste of staleness coating his mouth.  
“I’m…” he had to think of an excuse fast, “cold.” He heard Ned scoff with disbelief.  
“Cold? How? You’re like a bloody furnace.”  
“I just am.” He leant up on his elbow, facing Ned.  
“You want a blanket or something?” He pulled back the covers, reaching under his bed for the spare blanket Conor knew he’d brought with him on his first day in that massive duffel he’d carried with him everywhere. Conor sat up abruptly, reaching over to still Ned’s hand.  
“No. No, it’s okay.” He said hurriedly. Ned, with a raised eyebrow, nodded and laid back down under his covers.  
It was silent again. That is until he felt a dip in the mattress at his back. Conor shivered as he felt Ned’s warm hand press gently against the muscles of his back, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to contain the rapid beating of his heart in his chest.

“Conor, what’s wrong?” He leaned down, his fringe tickling the back of Conor’s neck. When he heard no response from the brunette, he huffed out a frustrated sigh, his breath coming out in a puff. “C’mon, Conor. ‘Our team’, remember.”

The silence hung in the air for a moment as Connor tried to collect himself. Sensing his incoming defeat to the wrath of Ned’s puppy-dog-eyes, he rolled over, his nose brushing softly against the other boy’s pyjama-covered thigh.  
“I think the heater’s broken. I checked it earlier but… could you jump in with me?” Ned looked taken aback, his cheeks flushing deeply, but he nodded. Ned climbed in behind him and wrapped his lithe arms around Conor’s middle, snuggling closer until he felt all of Ned aligned against his back.  
“Better?” Ned's voice was muffled against his back. His sigh of contentment was enough of an answer for him, it seemed. Closing his eyes and breathing in the earthy scent wafting around him, he felt, drowsily, as they both drifted off to sleep, darkness once again whisking them away.


	2. My Jersey Heart

Pascal's sharp whistle pulled him out of a particularly powerful daydream, other players shoved him forcefully out of the way as they jeered and rushed towards the showers, leaving Conor standing alone with the rugby ball at his feet. Making a final kick of the ball, Conor stumbled off of the lush green pitch, sweat dripping down his face and arms. It had been a long day of meaningless classes, English to science to geography to maths to the three-hour-long practice Pascal had thrust unfairly upon the team of boys, especially taking into account their recent success only a few months before. He couldn't wait to get back to his dorm.

The autumn wind rustled through the grass alongside the greenery, picking up and spinning stray leaves in hypnotising circles, leading his mind astray... leading his mind to Ned. He felt dizzy with the overwhelming flashes of pale skin, red hair, brown eyes surrounded by dotted freckles... all too much for him to handle while remaining standing.

He lay down on the grass, his head narrowly missing the wall of concrete separating the field and the hills leading up to the main campus, and stared up at the gradually darkening sky. Thoughts of Ned had gnawed at his hormone-ridden brain ever since that night in Conor's bed, tangled together under the thick duvet and the heavy blanket of nightfall, the following weeks revealing how, as Weasel and the other rugby idiots drifted away, Conor and Ned had become nearly inseparable, with their only time spent apart being moments on the rugby field when Conor's focus was zeroed-in on the brown ball as it flew through the air or in English class when Ned's eyes only ever focused on the words spilling from Sherry's mouth... and yet, despite how close they'd become, they skirted around each other, their gazes never crossing.

That same idea invaded his mind when he hauled himself up and off of the ground, swearing when he realised he'd been there for almost half-an-hour, and started walking back to the dorm, damp grass folding under his heavy footfall.

Brushing off his rugby shorts, he trudged up the grassy hill towards the main building, the concrete walls darkened as the sun continued to lower on the horizon. He raced up the staircase, bypassing groups of Year Seven boys bantering in the hallways while two seniors shoved younger classmates into the rolling bins lining the corridors, and paused by the door to his room. He pushed it open, the darkness within only pierced by a small sliver of fading sunlight slipping through a gap in the curtain, and peered around the shadowy room. Spotting a flash of red hair peeking out from the edge of the duvet, an overwhelming smile took over his face. It was almost impossible for Conor not to smile at the boy with his lithe body overtaken by the thickness of his blankets and the strength of the dark, the cuteness of it all sending his heart thumping.

He took a step closer, kicking off his muddied shoes, sending them flying in opposite directions. He sat down at the edge of the mattress and peered down at a thick book, probably assigned by Sherry, lying at his side, the pages fanning out in a sweeping arc where he'd presumably left it as he drifted off to sleep. He sat down at the edge of the mattress, careful not to sit on anything. A sudden tingling sensation travelled down his arm as he watched, bewildered, as his hand reached down to pat tenderly at Ned’s hair, the soft strands flowing, like liquid, between his fingers.

He shook himself, refocusing. Acting subconsciously, he pulled back the bed covers until it was pooled around Ned’s hips, Ned’s arms flopping against the mattress at his sides. Squinting in the dark, his eyes grew wide when he saw the blue, mesh polyester material of his spare jersey… which Ned was wearing. Ned, Ned, Ned. Everything was suddenly, and only, Ned.

He slowly came back to himself, a fierce blush rising over his cheeks, and reached down to shake Ned’s shoulder, gently rousing him. Below him, Ned’s eyes fluttered open, growing wide when he realised Conor was sitting very closely at his side. ‘Oh, God,’ he thought, ‘I want to die.’

“Come on,” Conor said, breaking the silence, through a quiet fit of laughter, “if you’re going to borrow my spare, you might as well let me have a good night's sleep in exchange.” He paused, watching Ned closely for any sign of apprehension, but all he saw was a shy smile and Ned's hand beckoning him towards the lifted duvet, open enough to allow Conor room to slide in beside him.  
“Come in, then. I’m getting cold.”  
Nuzzling closer, their first night together seemed to have unmistakably repeated itself, the darkness causing his drowsy eyes to dip.  
“Oh, by the way?" Conor said, words slurred, "You can keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”


	3. Dad's Home

The opposing team had been giving it their best shot against Conor’s team, losing seventeen to twenty-one, by the time Ned had returned from the bathroom, the stands erupting with pride as the shrill whistle signalling the end of the match blew. Ned watched in awe as Conor ran around the field, whooping and cheering loudly with a wide smile before he barrelled towards him. His breath left his body as he Conor slammed into his chest, holding Ned there.  
"You did it, Conor. You won!" his words were muffled as he spoke against the sweaty tan skin of his neck. "I guess, it wasn’t too bad for a rugby game." He chuckles, his arms wrapping tighter around Conor's waist, his hands sneaking under his shirt.  
"Well, thanks, Ned. Really appreciate your vote of confidence." The deep timbre of his voice echoed around his broad chest. He paused, pressing his cheek against Ned's, and whispered, “I’m really happy you're here."  
"Me too." They held onto each other for a few moments longer, cheeks brushing, before they pulled away, faces flushed red.

Conor coughed awkwardly. "So, do you want to go down to the pubs? I don't know if it's really your thing but, it could be fun?"  
"Wow, Conor, I know I'm not exactly 'Mr Popular' but I'm not alien to a night out." He paused, suddenly feeling sorry when he saw Conor grimace, "I mean, yeah. Yeah, I'll go."  
"Cool, cool. It's not really your run-of-the-mill kind of pub..." he paused, unsure, "I promise I'll explain once we get there, just... do you trust me?"  
"Yes, obviously." He chuckled, shoving Conor forward.

They traipsed through the alleyways of outer Dublin, gravel crunching underfoot as they continued on through the streets, laughing as they walked under the bright yellow street lamps. Conor bumped his shoulder against Ned's alongside one another, their hands flirtatious as they touched tantalisingly. Conor grabbed his hand, pulling him around a corner. Ned recognised it immediately, where he had realised Conor's secret, and slowed to a halt, jolting Conor back, grabbing onto his shoulders to ground him in place. A deep blush spread across his face, his throat dry.

"Conor," Conor looked at him questioningly, not understanding, "No, really, Conor. Before we go in there, I need to tell you something." Conor grabbed onto Ned's hands which were still pressed to his owns shoulders, and smiled, urging him to continue. "I know this place. This is where I found out about your secret.” He paused, waiting, "I just thought you should know."  
Seconds ticked by slowly in Ned's mind when he felt Conor's arms pull him closer, his chapped lips pressing against Ned's forehead. He could feel his smile, 'that beautiful Goddamn smile', warm and hard against his skin.  
"Thanks for telling me, Ned." with a final press of his lips, he pulled away. "Let's go. You lead," he laughed, "seeing as you already know where you're going."

An hour later, they stumbled out of the pub, fingers interlocked only to bump into a larger drunk man. Ned watched, with confusion, as Conor’s eyes grew wide, almost fearful.  
"Dad? What are you doing here?"  
"I was here for your game," he slurred, voice barely audible. "Who's this? Your boyfriend?"  
"No, Dad. This is my best mate, Ned."  
"'Best mate'? Yeah right, son." He laughed humourlessly, "I know what you are... you used to be my son but now... I don't know what this is but it's not normal." He stumbled forward, arms wide as he aimed for a hug. Conor pushed him away.  
"Dad. Go home, you're drunk."  
"No, I'm not going until you cut this shit out now." He lurched, blocked by a strong push. Ned stood over the older man, glaring.  
"Excuse me, Mr Masters, but can you kindly fuck off? He's not going with you."  
“How dare y--,” Ned cut him off.  
“No, sir. How dare you.” He turned to Conor, his gaze soft, “We’re leaving.” He grabbed Conor’s hand and walked them away, leaving Conor’s dad yelling and shouting drunkenly in the distance.

  
Around a corner, they stopped. Conor started to speak, eyes downcast. “I’m so sorry, this really isn’t how I’d expected you’d meet my dad.” He rubbed a hand across his face, frustrated, “He’s… he never really accepted who I am. It’s… I… I just didn’t expect that.” He breathed out a deep sigh, the heaviness of it revealing the heaviness in his heart that Ned had only seen once, in his own moment of weakness in that assembly hall.  
Ned couldn’t speak, wouldn’t speak, and instead smiled sympathetically up at Conor. He held Conor in place, running his fingertips up and down the exposed tan skin of his arms, goosebumps rising in waves, and stared up into the brown pools of his eyes, glittering under the streetlamps.  
Conor reached up and tentatively ran his fingertips over the soft skin under Ned’s eyes, his palm lay flat against his cheeks as their eyes continued to be locked.  
They didn’t know who leaned in first but, in only a matter of seconds, their lips were locked together, the warmth in their bodies spreading like wildfire. Warm breath mingled in the air around them, clashing of teeth and biting kisses fuelling their hands as they roamed across each other’s bodies, the alcohol in their veins burning through them.

Ned pulled away, pink and flushed, and let out a surprised chuckle. “That was… that was amazing. I don’t even know what to say.” He laughed, “Sorry.”  
“How about we just… hug. Hugging helps with every situation, right?’  
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” He pulled him in. “Just remember that kisses help too.” He kissed him again, cheeks warm in the cold winter air, standing in the middle of outer Dublin.


	4. Lying by your side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could be considered slightly "sexual". No sexual acts, maybe more "sensual"?

It was a sunny afternoon, sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains when Ned and Conor lay together on Conor’s bed. As a soft breeze filtering through a slightly-ajar window ruffled through the brunette’s hair, Ned mouthed hard against the column of Conor’s throat, leaving a trail of red circles of bruising up and down his neck from the sensitive spot behind his ear, Conor’s warm puffs of breath mixing tantalisingly with Ned’s soft chuckles when he heard Conor make a particularly desperate sound in the back of his throat, splotches of pink growing up his neck.

It had been weeks since they’d started whatever they had started, quiet afternoons fuelled by giggles and escaping from the horrors of ‘modern life’ transforming into quiet nights where breath mingled together hotly. He couldn’t stop thinking about it… so he chose not to think at all.

Goosebumps arose as he felt Conor’s hand skirting across the soft skin of his stomach, Conor’s calloused fingertips fluttering over the pale expanse exposed where the edge of his school shirt had ridden up by Conor’s ‘insistence’. The sunlight streaming through the curtains illuminated Ned’s faux-amber locks, Conor’s view of the world now only fire, a burning feeling deep in his chest, flowing through his body, unmatched by the heat of a volcano.

Birds tweeting, far-away shouting and jovial laughter were muffled in the background as the world outside on the school grounds faded away in the wake of Ned’s shuddering breaths. He was pulled out of his reverie when he felt Conor’s decision to flip them over before he did it, the sensation of his grip on Ned’s side tightening and his short nails biting into the pale skin of his hip growing stronger by the second. He let out a bark of laughter as he was turned onto his back, a huff of air coming out of his mouth as he hit the unfairly stiff mattress, before he pushed Conor away by his chest, almost knocking him on his arse, where he straddled the redhead's thighs.

Conor’s smile revealed a deep beauty in his face as he stared down at the smaller boy, eyes gleaming brightly, while Ned’s skin warmed, red, under the inquisitive stare on Conor’s face. Feeling like the fluttering of his heart would crush him, he reached down to tug lightly at the auburn tendrils at the back of his neck, soothing the sharp tug with a gentle pat. Heart thundering in his chest, he smirked down at Ned, eyes warm.

“What’cha looking at it, golden boy?” He shuffled around on the mattress, his hand reaching up behind his head jokingly to flex the taut muscles of his biceps, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Too distracted by my gorgeous body?” Ned chuckled gently, a sudden urge to cry choking the end of the laugh. ‘Oh God, I wish my mind would just stop for a moment so I could think straight’, he thought to himself, as he stared down at the boy below him.  
“Yeah, sure I am, Conor.” He said sarcastically. Giggling sweetly, Conor leaned down to kiss the boy in the dip of his collarbone, nipping at it softly, making Ned gasp slightly as he spoke, “Way too distracted.”  
“Well,” Ned sat up, making Conor almost fall back onto his arse, “I’m not going anywhere so you can stare all ya’ want. I won’t judge you for it… as you long as you don’t judge me for looking at your arse next time you play.” Conor couldn’t help the chuckle that shook itself from his throat, his cheeks glowing with warmth as Ned proudly looked up at him, brown eyes glowing with deep affection. “I love that.”  
“Love what?” His mouth quirked up at the corner, general -intrigue glowing in his eyes.  
“The way your cheeks puff out when you smile.” He poked at his cheek, his fingertips fluttering over where he’d pressed, soothing the already reddening spot, “Love that face. Really love that face.” Conor blushed furiously, his hands coming up to cover his cheeks.  
“Well that’s just not fair, now is it? I can’t possibly muster anything close to as sentimental as that, now can I?”  
“I guess you’ll just have to make some grand display of affection, then.” He laughed, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Ned’s neck, narrowly missing the way that his eyes shone as that very idea buried itself into the crevices of his mind, breathing hot puffs of air against the skin there. Conor shivered as it hit his skin.  
“I’ll think about it.” He pushed Ned to the side, laughing as Ned toppled off the bed and onto the floor, “As for now, I need one of your famous hugs.”  
“Sure thing, Conor.” He said, standing and wrapping him in his arms, almost too tightly, “Sure thing.”


	5. Field Trips

It was the school's first, and last, field-trip of the year: sixty Sixth-year, very rowdy, boys clambered onto a bus far too small for their numbers and drove off to a wet and rain-soaked marshland surrounded by... absolutely nothing worth describing. Ned and Conor, sitting side by side on the cramped and overwhelmingly-loud school bus, sat quietly and gazed out the window. Conor's knuckles brushed soothing circles across the skin on the backside of Ned's hand, his smile widening whenever he noticed the tips of his ears blush beet-red.

  
When the jostling of the bus finally stopped, streams of boys raced off of the bus, jeering and loud yelling drifting away from Ned and Conor as they ran off into the thick brush, teacher straying behind. When Ned and Conor felt their feet hit the asphalt at the edge of the green they took in an almost imperceptible breath of relief, away from the deafening shouts that had once filled the bus.

Nervously, Ned slipped his fingers between Conor's, threading them together until their palms were pressed tightly against each other, staring in the opposite direction of Conor's gradually-widening eyes, hoping to any higher power that his palms wouldn't sweat too much. 'Please don't say anything, please don't say anything, please don't say anyth---' he willed.   
"Um... so, is holding hands apart of our lil’ relationship now?" Conor asked. ‘Well, Goddamnit’.   
"I guess so." He turned back to him, frantic, "Friends can hold hands, y'know? It's just me being friendly. You get it, right?" Conor's face fell for only a fraction of a second but Ned still saw it, guilt flooding through him.   
"Yeah, right, of course." Conor squeezed tighter, willing his eyes to appear calm and collected when really his heart had just shattered into a million tiny pieces, "Friends hold hands." The two started off in the direction of the marshland.

After walking for a few more minutes, Conor asked: "What are we looking for exactly?" Still gripping Ned's hand, he leaned down and grabbed at a clump of grass, examining it closely.   
"Um... well, personally, I think Mr O’Reilly just wanted an excuse to flirt with Ms McNamara. Everyone knows about her weird obsession with woodland animals, 'm sure he does too." Conor hummed a quiet acknowledgment, continuing to run his fingers through the damp grass.

"You okay, mate? Didn't know you were so obsessed with grass." Ned chuckled, still concerned. Conor stared back up at Ned, standing, almost as if in a daze.   
"Yeah, sorry, mate. I was just thinking."   
"Oh... well, what were you thinking about? I've been told I'm a good listener?"   
"Who told you that?" Conor asked, chuckling.   
"My dog." Conor let out a bark of laughter, letting go of Ned's hand to clutch his stomach.   
"Of course your dog told you." He sighed, mockingly wiping away an invisible tear.   
He turned back and gripped at Ned's shoulder. "Okay, well, if your dog said so, I guess I can trust you." Ned nodded, face serious before a small smile spread across his face. "Okay, I want to start off by saying that I've really enjoyed whatever's been going on between us over the past couple of weeks but..." He looked up, a shock of horror going through him when he saw Ned's mouth agape, his skin ghostly pale.   
He lurched forward, holding him tight. "No! Oh, my gosh, no! I'm not telling you that I want it to stop! God, I probably shouldn't've led with that... I wanted to say... well, ask you, if you wanted to, I dunno? Be my..." His brain malfunctioned, confused and unable to find the right word.   
"Boyfriend?" Ned asked excitedly, hopefulness in every crevice of his face.   
"Yes! That!" he paused, "will you? Be my boyfriend, that is?"   
"Heck, yes! Obviously!" He scoffed, "No offence, Conor, but... I've basically been in love with you since I found out you weren't just some unnaturally hot straight rugby-lad."

He leaned back, hands on his knees, as his breath came out in puffs, traces of disbelieving laughter laced between the uneven beating of his heart.   
"Can I hug you? I really want to right now.”   
“You just asked me out… you can do whatever you want!” Conor practically lunged at Ned, knocking him down on the marshy grass, laughter hidden in the hollows of each other's necks. Muffled against Conor's throat, "Ew, now I've got mud all over my favourite jacket! I blame you, Conor, I blame you."   
"Fine, blame me for whatever, you big baby." His nose nuzzled the bump of his throat, "I'll pay for damages later."

After several minutes of embracing, Ned wiggled, frustrated. "Okay, arsehole. We need to get the fuck up before someone stumbles upon us and figures out what happened."   
"Yeah, okay. Fair enough." He pulled Ned up by his wrists.   
"Goddamn, Conor. You lift weights or somethin'?"   
"Oh, shut up, you!" He swung an arm around his neck, pressing a loud wet kiss against his cheek, making him squirm. "Let's get back to the bus."


End file.
